


a heart made of stardust

by ehre_wahrheit



Series: inheriting the stars [2]
Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, How Not To Deal With Loss by Yagarai Souma, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: you, of the cosmos,of starlight and moonbeam,of suns and planets -you, with the strength of the planets' orbits,and a heart made of stardust -you, who loveswith the expanse of the universein the length of time that light travelsto the atmosphere --Three years after Heaven's Fall, Souma Yagarai meets a strange man in a park. Ten years later, they meet again. They're both still figuring this whole adult thing out, and they're slowly getting better. After all, the universe itself wrote their love story.





	a heart made of stardust

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete self-indulgence. although it claims to be part of a series, it can be taken as a completely separate work from [ let the stars collide ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10182032) and simply a work written for the A/Z series.
> 
> -
> 
> Note on the characters: in this work, Souma is depicted as a homosexual man

_you, of the cosmos,_   
_of starlight and moonbeam,_   
_of suns and planets -_   
_you, with the strength of the planets' orbits,_   
_and a heart made of stardust -_   
_you, who loves_   
_with the expanse of the universe_   
_in the length of time that light travels_   
_to the atmosphere -_

_your soul shines like starlight in the evening,_   
_like the sun warms the cold waters of the Earth;_   
_your words build like nebula in your throat,_   
_only to burst like flowers on a lovely summer morning -_   
_gentle, gentle, like morning rain on the softest petals._   
_your emotions, they flow, like sand in the desert -_   
_they rise, like a tide, to meet you where you stand_

_-_ "hazyle", 2015

* * *

 

Contrary to what people seem to expect from their love story, it had not been love at first sight.

It’s the greatest damn story of his whole life, if Souma Yagarai had anything to say about it.

*

He meets Koichiro Marito for the first time when he’s 16, three years after Heaven’s Fall.

Souma is volunteering for his high school’s annual War Hero Appreciation parade, because everyone else in his class of 11—including him—had the luxury of free time. His part of the work is easy, compared to everyone else’s, in his opinion – he had always been good at problem solving and diplomacy, so being tasked with negotiating everything with the concerned authorities was a win for him.

His meeting with the local veteran hospital’s administration had just ended when he decides to stay out later than usual, and spend time in the part across the hospital. It’s deserted at this time of evening, so he won’t look like some weirdo in his high school uniform, hanging out in the park; at the same time, it’s early enough that anyone seeing him in the park won’t call the authorities for _suspicious activities_.

The park is beautiful, in the evening – fairy lights have been hung between lampposts covered in gold hoods, giving the hedges and benches a lovely soft glow that’s almost picturesque. With flowers blooming everywhere, the night air is filled with the sweet scent of freshness – making the scene look even more surreal than ever.

Souma takes his time to digest everything he’s seeing, appreciating its beauty.

Three years ago, this place had been rubble and dust.

He remembers, clearly, because this is where he had been found, buried under a collapsed wall. In hindsight, that wall had protected him from the rest of the rubble that came down after the rest of the school collapsed. _Lucky child_ , he’d been called back then, over and over.

The view is all soft colors and brilliance, so the sight of a man, hunched over a small flowerbox in the middle of the park, catches his attention immediately. Souma stops walking. If he remembers correctly, that flowerbox had been the Memorial Box – flowers planted and cultivated to not only serve as a reminder of beauty in the midst of chaos but also in memory of lives lost, three years ago, the lives of seventeen children, lost in a rain of dust and debris.

(“Souma,” Alisa Ichijo says, “this is for you.” And then she shoves a bunch of flowers into Souma’s face, running away before he can even get a word in.

“Thank you,” he calls to her, ignoring the sniggers and wolf-whistles from their classmates. He’s flattered, really; it’s just too bad that he doesn’t really like Alisa back that way. He doesn’t really _like_ girls that way – maybe he’s just weird.

*

“Alisa’s cute,” Grey Nakai tells him later, when they’re hanging out at his house as usual. “I mean, if you’re talking about girls, obviously _Kana_ is cuter, but Alisa’s cute, and if she likes you, then you’re lucky, right? I heard the boys say you’re lucky that Alisa likes you, since she—”

Souma pulls away, feeling tingly all over and getting the distinct feeling that this is how he should have felt when Alisa gave him flowers this morning. “Shut up, Grey,” he says, and then the full extent of what he had just done gets to him, and he blushes – from his head to his chest, he feels like he’s _burning_.

 _I just kissed my best friend_.

Grey’s eyes are wide when he finally looks up—wide, and sparkling; _happy_ , Souma realizes. _He’s happy._ He licks his lips.

“Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

*

“Mei likes you, too, she just told me,” Hide Tetsuya tells him the following morning. They’re seatmates today, and though Souma doesn’t _dislike_ Hide, he’d rather be partnered with Grey today. He meets Grey’s eyes and they both blush, smiling at each other like idiots before looking away.

“Mei Hanegawa?” Souma asks, although he knows the answer because there’s only one Mei he knows is in their grade. “Why would she like me? We’re in different classes.”

Hide shrugs. “You’re good at sports, and you’re smart.” He studies Souma’s face, too. “And you also have a pretty okay face, if she likes your type.”

Souma pushes Hide’s face away with his palm, almost yelling in disgust when he feels a tongue press against his skin.

“You are _disgusting_.”

*

Of all the people who could have caught them kissing, it had to be _Ichi fucking Kobayashi_. Ichi Kobayashi is muscly, tall, and a bully, even though they’re the same age, and Souma _hates his guts._

He’s sneering as he looks from Souma, to Grey, and back again, looking far too delighted and excited for anything good to happen to them.

Being the hormonal teenagers that they are, Grey and Souma decided to make out behind the sports shack, since no one really uses it during lunch time, what with training underway or people on their lunch breaks. They didn’t expect it to be _delinquent space_.

“What do you want,” Souma says, sighing and impatient because he would really, really like to go back to kissing Grey now.

“You _are disgusting fags,_ ” Ichi sneers, spitting the words out like venom. “ _Fucking sucking face with a guy_ , that’s _dirty_ , you goddamned _homos!”_

Souma continues looking at Ichi, unimpressed and—honestly—a little clueless. Ichi is a bumbling idiot, the whole school knows that; the only reason he hasn’t been kicked out for behavior problems yet is because his uncle is in the Board of Directors. Souma rolls his eyes, deciding to look at Grey again who –

Okay, he doesn’t look too pleased, and when that look is on Grey’s face then—

“G-Grey, _no,”_ he says, reaching out to hang on to Grey and _keep him seated_.

“Shut up, Souma,” Grey growls – Souma gulps because _that does things to him okay_ – struggling against Souma’s hold on his shoulder. “Let me punch him, just once, he’s being extra fucking _horrible_.”

“Oh, what,” Ichi says, “are the flaming gays _whispering_ to each other? _Wuv, wuv, I wuv youuuuu~”_ he continues to make a disgusting kissing sound and has Souma cringing, almost feeling like his lunch is about to come back up his esophagus.

“Calm down,” he hisses to Grey, who continues to struggle against him; if he doesn’t get Grey to calm down, they are _getting kicked out of school, damn._ “Grey,” he pleads.

“Ha! Yeah, that’s what you are! Fucking _gay_!”

*

He lets Grey punch Ichi in the face.

*

The administration never really gets to punish Grey for that, because the following day, the moon shatters, and the shards that fly close enough to the Earth to enter its atmosphere hit Northern Kyushu, completely eradicating Tanegashima Island and starting the First Interplanetary War.

*

Alisa Ichiko, Grey Nakai, Hide Tetsuya, Ichi Kobayashi; Erina, Mei, Kaito, Winnie; Risa, Megumi, Glen, Bani, Joshua, Mitsue; Akane, Cara, and Chizu.

*

There weren’t enough of the bodies unearthed to even fill a single coffin and have people say _there’s a body in there_.

What used to be the school, now the grave of seventeen children – turned into the most beautiful attraction in the city: a flower park.)

Souma approaches the man, his eye catching on a glinting silver piece on the ground, the chain almost touching the Memorial Box.  A dog-tag.

 _Ah, a soldier, then_.

He makes sure his approach is obvious; he doesn’t really want to be gutted in the middle of this park – survived one incident only to die here in the end. When he’s close enough, he squats beside the man, knees folded close to his chin and hands on his lap. He watches as the wildflowers dedicated to his friends and schoolmates dance in the wind.

Three years feels like a long, but at the same time not long enough, time. He reaches out and touches one of the flowers with his hand, and says, “Alisa.” He touches another. “Hide.” A blue flower. “Mei.” One by one, he names flowers after his friends, in the presence of a strange, silent man who doesn’t say anything.

When Souma finishes naming his flowers, the man reaches out – farther than Souma had gone, for the biggest, brightest flower in the bunch – a giant blooming orchid, right in the middle of the box. “John,” he says softly. His voice is scratchy, like he hadn’t talked in a while, or like he’d been crying. One look at his face tells Souma it’s not because of crying.

The man is handsome, to say the least. He looks old, probably older than he is – there’s scruff on his face and he looks gaunt, like he hadn’t eaten in a few days; there are circles under his eyes and his hair is overgrown into an unruly curtain around his face. His eyes are a bottomless pit of pain and something else that Souma doesn’t quite understand yet.

He looks away, back into the flowers. And then he starts talking.

*

Father scolds him when he gets home that night – it’s way past curfew, and he hadn’t told them beforehand he was going to be late. He apologizes profusely, and doesn’t tell him why he had just gotten home.

For some reason, he wants to keep his night with Koichiro Marito a secret, for now. In a space deeply hidden in his heart—hidden so deeply not even the first boy he had kissed had been able to touch it—he keeps the memory of the night.

*

(The man listens.

Well, he just sits there, doesn’t interrupt; Souma wants to think he’s listening. He doesn’t want to be judgmental, but by the way the man looks – so haunted, so sad, so _lonely_ – he thinks that maybe he’s the first to talk to the man like this in a while, if _ever_. So he keeps talking.

When he runs out of stories about his schoolmates, he starts talking about Father’s cat, Kuro, who attacks everyone unless you give her treats like the darn queen she is.

“Sometimes she even _picks_ the treats she takes, like she has a _choice_ – if she thinks you have something better you can give her, she will _bite your ankles_ until you give it to her. It’s frustrating, and it’s probably why she’s so fat.” He sighs. “I think Father loves her more than he loves me, but I won’t be surprised. I surely love _her_ more than I love him.”

He finally gets a reaction from the man at that – a small, quiet chuckle and has Souma looking at him again.

“Do you feel better n-now?” he asks, choking on the last word. Damn, just how long had he been talking?! His throat hurts!

The man finally meets his gaze, and although he seems cautious, he gives Souma a small smile. “Is that what you were trying to do?” he asks. “Make me feel better?”

Souma blushes, and suddenly hates that it’s an automatic response to anything even remotely resembling embarrassment. “Um,” he mutters, “did it work?”

To his surprise, the man laughs – long and loud and echoing in the park. When he calms down, he pats Souma on the head—what a _prick_ —before picking up the dog tag he’d been staring at and sighing, watching the way it glints when it moves. “Yeah, kid,” he says, “I’m sure you can end this war, actually, with how much yammering you’ve done the past ten minutes.”

“Hey!”)

*

His name is Koichiro Marito, and he fought in Tanegashima, although no one believes him.

“I believe you, though,” Souma mutters, his finger digging into soul. “Can’t I count?”

Koichiro is quiet, for long enough that Souma just wants to take it back if it will make the shame go away. When he finally speaks, there’s so much emotion in his voice that Souma avoids looking at him, thinking maybe he wouldn’t want to be seen in his more vulnerable moments. “Yeah, kid,” he murmurs, “you count.”

*

At the end of the night, when Koichiro finally points out that Souma should, indeed, be home at this hour, he pats Souma on the head again and says, “You’re a good kid, Souma. You’d do good to this world.” And then he smiles, and Souma gets the feeling that that smile is going to mean so much to him soon.

*

Koichiro doesn’t show up for the parade. When Souma asks the President of the hospital after him, he learns that Koichiro was released from the hospital’s care the night they talked – he’s back in service, now, and they have no idea where the government had placed him.

(“But is he even mentally stable enough for a new designation?” he asks the president, who looks at him, as if he’s amused and at the same time fond.

“Do you want to be a doctor, Yagarai- _kun_?” he asks. “There are decisions that need to be made that sometimes we don’t have control over.” He looks over at the parade, which is still ongoing; there were so many _people_. “If you want, I can get you into our program. I’ll fund your education, you seem like an enthusiastic one.”

Souma says, “I’ll think it over,” but really, he doesn’t need to – he decided, then and there, during that conversation, and that he was going to be a doctor, and he was going to understand why they put Koichiro back in service when he’s still mourning his best friend’s death, and they don’t even _believe him_.)

*

If there’s one thing about that night with Koichiro he ends up right about, it’s the fact that Koichiro’s smile begins to mean the world to him. During the days when he can barely function from exhaustion, he remembers that smile and suddenly he’s filled with energy. On the nights he doubts his decision and abilities, he remembers that smile and the accompanying words – _You’d do good to this world_ – and promises to himself to work to become a doctor that puts his patient’s well-being first.

It isn’t always easy, of course. It’s been so long and he has so much in his mind that sometimes, it takes him some time to be able to clearly remember how Koichiro’s face had looked when he smiled – how the sides of his eyes creased, how his cheeks flushed in color, how even his scruff seemed to look more cheerful and not a product of self-neglect.

On the hardest nights, Souma dreams of Grey, but instead of them separating that afternoon for club activities, they stayed in the classroom longer, and Souma got buried in the rubble along with him.

*

Souma barely remembers Marito when he finishes his studies, eight years after they first met, on that one night in a children’s grave. He’s almost Marito’s age then, now, although he doesn’t know that yet; if he did, he would probably be happier about finishing his residency than he actually is.

The President – Souma never really got rid of that nickname – had insisted that he do his fellowship under the tutelage of one of his friends, who worked in a port city just south of Tokyo called Shinawara.

When he agrees, he never would have thought it was the decision that would reunite him with Marito once more.

*

They don’t meet immediately. Souma keeps odd hours in the hospital and usually doesn’t even leave until his thirty-hour shifts end, and by then he’d be so exhausted he can barely pay attention to what’s happening to his surroundings. His schedule isn’t really conducive to socialization.

Except, after an especially hard night – he had just lost a patient, a ten-year-old _child_ – he decides, in some parody of that decision from long ago, not to go home immediately and take a walk in the local park. Shinawara is a small enough city that it only has one park – it’s not as beautiful as his hometown’s had been, but it was good enough and huge enough for him to be able to walk around and relax in.

There are no flowers blooming now, it’s too late in the year for that. Although the moon getting shattered and the subsequent changes in landform and population did affect world climates drastically, it still retained the same kind of pattern – it’s cold near the end of the year; hot in the middle.

He flops down on one of the benches and decides to watch the stars, trying to get himself to believe that his patient – _Claire, her name is Claire_ – is now up there, maybe watching over them.

( _There are Martians out there, Souma, it’s dangerous. My dad said they’d probably kill everyone on Earth if they wanted, ‘coz they don’t have as much water on Mars as we do on Earth._ )

He yelps in surprise when he feels something warm press against his cheek – he jumps away from the bench but, thanks to his overly exhausted limbs—and mind, especially—all he manages to do is fall on his behind to the ground. He looks up and –

“Koichiro,” he breathes, blinking rapidly to try to understand if he was seeing things or if his _fucking inspiration through med school_ is really standing there, behind the bench he’d just fled from, smiling like a lunatic with a bottle of coffee in his hands.

“Long time no see, Souma,” he greets, and he sounds haughtier, _better_ , now.

*

They don’t start dating each other immediately because, despite Souma’s feelings, Koichiro still probably only sees him as a kid who blabbered in a park in the middle of the night.

(Also, Souma is willing to admit now, because he thought Koichiro had been dating Yuki Kaizuka.

They’re colleagues and close friends – and Koichiro seems strangely protective over her, so Souma’s—painfully immature, if he was being honest—mind concluded that they must be dating. It’s just as well – Koichiro looks happy, and healthy, and he seems to be having more fun when they’re with Yuki than he is when it’s just Souma with him. Many times he had left Yuki to take Marito home after a long drinking session, and their visage as they disappear from his line of sight is as assuring to him as it is painful.)

Time passes. They have dinner together, they go out drinking – Souma starts to notice the distance he carefully, consciously puts between himself and Marito… and so does he.

*

It starts when Souma slips. He accidentally calls him ‘Marito’ instead of ‘Koichiro’ and he denies that _no, I’m not trying to distance myself, what are you talking about, I’m just trying to give you the respect my younger self never did._

“I don’t want your respect, Souma,” Marito says, irritated, frustrated, angry. “I want _you_.”

*

Marito – Koichiro – walks away from him then, and he doesn’t see him for two weeks.

*

He finds out about the relapse when he sees Koichiro’s name on one of the charts he’s endorsed during his second shift in the ER. _Blood loss,_ it reads, _dehydration, mental instability. Withdrawal from medication, near-fatal alcohol levels in the bloodstream._

It takes everything he has not to drop everything he’s doing and run to ER to check on Koichiro. He’s a doctor, a professional; he can’t just up and leave his patient and residents, so he finishes his endorsement and walks, as calmly as he can, to the emergency room.

The sight that greets him there is—sadly—more familiar to him than the sight that greeted him months ago, behind that bench in the park. This Koichiro is gaunt, eyes haunted; his hair is unkempt and his face is blank, almost childlike in its absence except for the obvious way that time and emotion has ravaged his soul. There’s an IV in his arm, two bags slowly pumping him with the blood and hydration he needs to survive the next 24 hours.

“His BP stabilized after the third bag,” his bedside nurse updates him, her hand flying across the clipboard with his file. She checks his blood oxygen levels, his heartrate, his pain response—nearly none—before turning to Souma expectantly.

“Put in a request for a psych evaluation,” he murmurs, his eyes roving over the gaunt figure on the bed – so small, so vulnerable, so weak _because of me_ – “and give me a list of his meds. “How are his glucose levels?”

“Normalizing, but it might take a few more hours. The amount of alcohol in his bloodstream is _crazy_.”

Finally, Souma has no more choice but to ask, because what else can he do? He’ll have to ask at the end of the day. If he doesn’t, he’ll find out anyway when one of the other fellows comes over to check on Koichiro during their shift. “What caused the blood loss?”

The nurse moves closer to him, handing over the clipboard she had just finished writing on. He’ll flip over it later. Right now, he can’t really take his eyes off of Koichiro. “Self-inflicted wounds, as far as we can see,” he murmurs. “His neighbor reported loud sounds and screaming twice over the past three days, and then called for emergency services when he wouldn’t open the door after he tried to check on him. Apparently this wasn’t his first attack.” She reaches over his arm to flip a few pages back – Souma looks down and sees it’s an old patient’s report. “He served in Tanegashima ten years ago, and never got the proper treatment for stress or depression. He got assessed for PTSD last year, but he’s completely noncompliant with the therapy and medication.

“Looks like his only coping mechanism was alcohol.”

Souma takes a deep breath, nodding and signing the last—latest—page on the clipboard. “Send in a request for oxygen therapy, too. I’ll be on the floor this shift, come get me when the psych’s here.”

“Noted, doc,” the nurse says, and then she leaves. Souma lingers a little longer, finally giving in to temptation to touch Koichiro’s hand for a moment before finally leaving.

*

Dinner is awkward, the next time they go out. Conversation is stunted and Souma is afraid that, when it ends, Koichiro will say he doesn’t want to see Souma ever again.

(“You’re still childishly clinging on to a dream you never really made your own,” Fred says. He’s smoking in the bedroom again, despite the number of times Souma had asked him not to. “So? Someone told you they’d pay for med school, and suddenly you want to be a fucking doctor, and turns out it’s _too hard_. Why the hell are you whining? You _chose_ to be someone’s dream.”

Souma doesn’t answer, just turns in bed and buries his face deeper into the pillow. He wants to believe that if he buries his face deep enough, he’ll stop smelling the scent of menthol.

Or maybe he’d be lucky and he’d suffocate and die.

A few minutes later, a warmth cradles his back and arms wrap around his middle, pulling him to a firm, strong chest. “Sorry, baby,” Fred murmurs into his ear, pressing a tickling kiss to his neck. “Let my temper get the best of me back there. I know you just want to help people, I’m sorry for going off on you.”

 _But you’re right,_ Souma thinks. _I’m living a dream life that isn’t my own, because I wanted to help one person who has probably completely forgotten me, who I will probably never see again._

“It’s alright,” he murmurs into the dark, hours later, when the man behind him is far too deep in sleep to hear him. He closes his eyes, and tries to sleep.)

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, once he’s conceded that this is an awful night and if it ends tonight, then it ends. He never thought he’d ever agree to people who said you can’t be friends with someone you’re in love with, but he agrees with them now. “I’m—I’m sorry, Koichiro.”

There’s a pause. “What are you apologizing for?” Koichiro asks, all soft and gentle and everything Souma does not deserve.

They’re in the middle of a fucking restaurant and Souma starts bawling like a child, words falling over themselves in a desperate plea to reach the man in front of him, a reminder of how they started, ten years ago.

He thinks that’s bad enough – but that’s before he starts sobbing.

*

The hotel manager allows them to check into the hotel without prior reservation and Koichiro just sits there, holding Souma as he sobs and _he’s still talking._

Once his voice tapers off to sobs, though, Koichiro chuckles. He’s rubbing Souma’s back, soothing and gentle, not minding that Souma’s getting his shirt wet with tears and snot. “I was wrong before,” he murmurs, “ _this_ is the spiel that’ll get the Martians to back off. I’m sure if they found out how much you can talk, you can get them to run off in fear,” he teases, slowly coaxing Souma away from his tears.

Souma laughs, watery and weak. “Shut up,” he says. He sniffles. “My throat hurts again,” he realizes. “How long have I been talking?”

“Almost three hours, sweetheart, although I was sure you’d end up talking more.”

Souma blushes. Not only because of the teasing, but because Koichiro had called him _sweetheart._ He doesn’t really care of he did it to tease, he still feels delighted tingles running up his spine, and he shivers in delight.

“You feeling alright now, sweetheart?”

_Sweetheart again, oh god, I’ll die._

“Y-Yeah,” he says, although it’s accompanied by a hiccup. He pulls away from Koichiro, looking up to look him in the face. He’s scared, but he wants to tell Koichiro how he feels, how he has felt for the past ten years. He opens his mouth but—before he could get a word in—his world stops.

Koichiro is kissing him.

_Koichiro is kissing me._

_Koichiro. Is. Kissing. Me._

*

Souma has only ever kissed three other men in his life, but none of them have ever made him feel this way.

*

When Koichiro pulls back, there’s a sly, lazy grin on his face, a grin that turns smug as he registers the look on Souma’s face. “Yeah, that ought to shut you up,” he says. “You’ve talking for hours, Souma, give your mouth a damned break.”

He licks his lips, and Souma feels a familiar sensation sing through his veins. _Desire_.

“Or, you know, maybe not.” This time, when Koichiro leans in to kiss him, Souma meets him halfway, and gives it as much as he can.

*

They’re naked, pressed together under the sheets, when they have the conversation.

“This is so cliché,” Souma says, too delighted to be self-conscious. He has Koichiro curled against his back, his arms wrapped around Souma’s middle; what else could he want in life?

Koichiro snorts. “Tell me about it. So? How about it? Wanna try dating me?”

Souma laughs. “I’ll think about it,” he says, but they both know he’s already made up his mind and the answer was a _big, fat, yes_.

*

(One day, Souma gets home to an empty apartment. Not empty as in, _no one’s home at the moment_ – empty as in, _no one lives here anymore_ , although he was pretty sure only half of the things in the apartment are gone. He tries to tell himself he’s prepared for this, he had been prepared for this, there’s still no stopping the pain and the tears from coming.

He flops to the couch, and notices a familiar box on the coffee table, keeping a piece of paper in place. He takes the paper and unfolds it, not surprised to find a note in Fred’s excruciatingly familiar penmanship.

_Souma –_

_I’m sorry it had to be this way, but I’m not as ready to settle down as I thought I was. I love you, and I know you would have said yes, but I don’t think I should ask the question._

_Not yet, at least._

_If you want to wait for me, I’d be the luckiest man alive, and I promise I’ll make you the happiest husband in the universe. If you don’t… sell the ring. Sell the apartment. Get yourself a new house, the pets you always wanted, and be happy._

_I’m sorry for wasting your time._

He was right, of course – if he had asked, Souma would have immediately said _yes_ and that was that. He’d settle. Fred wasn’t the perfect man, but when he was good, they were great – he made Souma forget all the rough edges he pretends he doesn’t have, and he makes the world just that much easier to ignore.)

*

As he watches Koichiro sleep, he ponders that maybe, it’s better to have someone who helps you confront the cracks in yourself than someone who ignores them with you.

He brushes a kiss on Koichiro’s forehead, smiling when it rouses the man. He grunts. “What’re you doin’ up so early?” he mumbles. “Go back to sleep.”

“I will, in a while,” he whispers, running his hand through Koichiro’s hair, enjoying how soft and warm it feels against his palm. He lets his hand drop when Koichiro raises his head to look at him with only one eye open.

“Go back to sleep.”

Souma rolls his eyes, but he snuggles down into the sheets, anyway. “Yes sir. Wouldn’t want to waste the money we spent on this hotel.”

“Damn right, sweetheart.” A kiss to his nose. “Sleep.”

*

Things aren’t easy. Years of ignoring his experiences has given Souma… issues – issues that he tries to confront on his own, never really learning that he’s better off facing them with Koichiro by his side. And then there were Koichiro’s problems as well—with his trauma comes the nightmares and the attacks; and then there was the alcoholism…

It isn’t easy, but they make it work; they work _together_ , because that’s who they are – they’re not just a relationship, they’re a team, and they’re in it for the long haul.

Their story is not the best. It’s not romantic, nor is it completely happy; if he’s being honest, Souma is afraid it might even end in a tragedy. They’re facing a war, and the stakes are high, but… this was their story, it’s how the universe decided they meet – and who was he to go against _that?_

*

No, it hadn’t been love at first sight, but it’s the love story the universe itself wrote. Souma wouldn’t change it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and feedback are more than welcome ~
> 
> come talk to me on [ Tumblr! ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com)


End file.
